


Tomorrow

by kalewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Build up, Caring Dean, Dean is Nurse!Dean, Dean is a Little Shit, Dean is also in love, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Ice teasing, Protective Dean, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Why is California so hot?, all of the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalewrites/pseuds/kalewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes care of you when you’re sick which leads to the boundaries of your relationship getting a little blurry and the sexual tension skyrocketing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Featherlight touches down your cheek pull you from sleep as you try to coax your eyes open.

“Shit, sorry sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Dean brushes hair from your face, slipping a hand down to rest on the side of your neck, a gentle reassuring pressure.　

“S'ok, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I’m sorry, Dean.” You’re sprawled across the couch, your head resting gently in his lap, fallen there at some point during the movie you clearly missed.

Casting your eyes up at him, you can’t help feel that juttery upkick in your heart as you take in his soft smile and warm eyes. Things between you had shifted recently, a subtle changing to something other, something not-quite-friends anymore. Neither of you called it, and if Sam or Cas noticed neither of them said anything either. You’d been pretty seriously ill and your boys had seriously stepped up, all of them, but there was no denying that Dean really shouldered the brunt of it. What you had initially assumed was his ‘big brother’ instinct kicking in but recently had you on the edge of a different instinct, one which you were all to happy to go along with. It had been hard, especially in the beginning, having him care for you and see you at your most vulnerable but he had insisted. He’d been your rock, your friend, your bed buddy…everything. He stayed up and binge watched Netflix with you when the pain got so bad. He made you countless bowls of soup when it was the only thing you could keep down. You didn’t point out that you had been healthy and fit for a few weeks now, and yet Dean still stayed in your bed every night.   
　  
A distinct clearing of throat snaps you from your thoughts and you realize you had been staring at him, again. Not that he seems to mind, that signature smirk working its way onto his face. You want to respond but he’s drawing his thumb over the junction at your jaw and it’s making your skin hum, alive with gathering energy. His eyes drift downwards, snagging on the movement before continuing down your neck and stilling in the rise and fall of your chest as your breath comes a little quicker. The smirk is gone, replaced with serious eyes and a deepening frown. Without a thought, your hand reaches out, fingers smoothing out the lines almost as an habitual way to stop whatever demon has found its way inside his head.

“Hey, did I ever say thank you? Ya know, for Nurse Dean?”

He twists his mouth, fighting against the smile you know is pushing it’s way out, “Ey now, it’s Doctor Dean. Didn’t spend ze-ro years in Med school to be called a friggin’ Nurse.” He attempts a stern look but all he manages is a frowny smile, “Besides, you have nothin’ to thank me for. It’s what family does.”

Family. That word again. And yet…the way he’s holding you right now, is that a family thing? How he shares your bed every night…family thing? The way his eyes catch on your legs when it’s too hot for pyjamas. Family.

“Is that what I am Dean? Family?” Your voice is quiet, hesitant.

He stares at you, three long beats, each one longer than the next. He knows what you’re asking, something flits across his face and then almost too soft to hear him, “No.”

He opens his mouth to speak just as Sam appears in room

“So get this, looks like there might be a vamps nest in Blythe, Cali- O-oh uh, was I interrupting?” He freezes mid-step, laptop balancing precariously on the crook of his elbow, coffee cup in the other.

“Course not, Sammy.” Dean huffs out, “So, Cali huh? Isn’t it like the devil’s ass crack this time of year?”

\----

Devils ass crack was right. Three long days you’d spent in Blythe. Three days in a crappy hotel room with two hulking masses and no air conditioning.

“Urgh, my eyeballs are melting!” You whine, wiping sweat from your neck.

Sam eyes you from his bed, where he’s stripped down to just his jeans, his hair plastered to his face. He grunts something that might have been an agreement. The door swings open sending another blast of hot air in your direction.

“The cavalry had arrived!” Dean flops down on your shared bed beside you, a huge bag of ice landing beside him. You scramble up and back as the ice hits your hot skin, the shock pulling a squeal from you.

“Not the usual noise I hear when I get into bed with a girl, Y/N.” He smirks at you but there’s heat in his eyes when he says it, that always something-more. You nudge his shoulder with your foot, smiling despite your best efforts not to.

You slip off the bed, grabbing some ice from the bag and depositing it in a waiting glass and immediately pop a piece into your mouth. A second larger piece is seized, quickly dragging it across your forehead, feeling it melting almost instantly, fat drops of water rolling down your fingers. Pulling your hair to the side and exposing the back of your neck, you run the ice over your shoulders and neck, a soft moan escaping you at the blissful chill. When you glance up, Sam is busy doing much the same thing, but Dean is fixed on you. Eyes unfocused and mouth slightly parted, he looks you over, trailing lazily over every exposed bit of skin and you swear you can almost feel it. He eventually meets your gaze, unashamed and unflinching, arching an eyebrow at you making you simultaneously want to kiss him and punch him in his stupid perfect face. You hadn’t had a moment alone together since that kind-of conversation in the bunker, but ever since he had been getting more and more brazen. It was surprising Sam’s eyes weren’t permanently damaged from all the eye rolls he’d been throwing at Dean’s heavy almost-flirting. 

He kicks up off the bed and grabs a piece from the bag, “Here, let me help.”

He trails it across you, ever so slowly, from one shoulder over to the other letting the ice melt between his fingers as wet droplets ran down your back. A soft hum escaped him before his lips grazed across your wet skin, a soft scalding touch before he was gone. Your skin tingled where his lips touched you, a hand reaching up automatically following the trail like you’re checking for proof because his lips burned your skin.

If Sam notices this exchange he says nothing.

\-----

Cold water from the shower head runs over your skin soothing the smothering heat a little. You stand there long after you’re clean, letting the water seep into your bones. You were enjoying the reprieve from the intense heat, definitely weren’t avoiding a certain green eyed hunter you were sharing a bed with tonight.

Nope.

A loud knock on the bathroom door snaps you from your thoughts.

“Damn, Y/N. Aren’t you done yet? How dirty were you?” You can practically feel the smirk on his face through the goddamn door.

“Fuck off Winchester!” But you still shut the water as you say it, grabbing your towel and wrapping it round you. You hear Sam laughing and the two of them talking, too muffled for you to make it out. Once dried, you pull on the smallest pyjamas you own, no longer caring for any sort of decency in front of the boys and opting for what was likely to keep you the coolest, and head out into the room.

“About damn ti-” Dean cuts off mid sentence as he gets a look at you, eyes roaming over inch of you, the dark flicker in them sending a shiver down your spine. He rolls that perfect bottom lip between his teeth before hurrying into the bathroom, door locking behind him.

It’s just a coincidence that his shower seems to be just that extra bit longer tonight. Yeah. Coincidence.

\----

The room is buzzing, air pulled tight and weighing as Dean settles into bed beside you. You skin tingles with the phantom feel of Dean’s lips on you and you roll onto your side facing away from him. Somewhere on the other side of the room Sam turns off the light so your bathed in darkness, it isn’t long before his soft snores can be heard like weird background music to your personal hell.

Deans been still and quiet a while and you’re almost sure he’s fallen asleep when gentle fingers trace circles on the skin at your side, exposure from your vest riding up a little. Your muscles twitch in response, everything in you straining both towards and away from his touch. Your breath huffs out of you once you realise you’d been holding it in, heart thudding in your chest. His thumb glances under your vest chasing goosebumps over your skin and presses himself up against you, flush against you from head to toe. The heat of him pushing at your back.

“Tomorrow.” He murmurs against your neck, a quiet promise that sets your nerve endings alight and settles in you gut.

Tomorrow.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tomorrow, but Sam's a cock-blocking Moose who needs to not.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” Dean's warm breath fans over your face as he leans in close to your ear. 

You bury your face deeper into the pillow, throwing out a hand and waving it until it connects with a body. Your fingers find flesh, muscles jumping under your touch as your fingertips glide along and hook in jeans. Your hand jerks back and head snaps up, you turn almost colliding with Dean’s face hovering just inches from yours. 

Peering down him, you see the way his t-shirt has ridden up and the patch of skin just above his jeans where your fingers just landed. You glance up to his face and find him staring at you, eyes dark and lust filled, lip captured between his teeth. He’s close, too close and your heart responds with rapid thumps that echo in your stomach. You can see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, melting into each other thanks to the last three days in the California sun. He watches you for a few more seconds, letting the energy push at you, before straightening with a smirk and retreating to the table where Sam is currently sitting. 

“Change of plans, Sammy found us a case nearby.” Dean's mouth is a thin line, conveying more than his voice is letting on, “Get dressed, I’ll get us breakfast.”

You huff out a breath, annoyed at the fact that you're awake, annoyed at Sam for finding another case before Dean gave you ‘Tomorrow’ and lastly annoyed at Dean for being so goddamn sexy all the time and setting you up for a day of jitteriness and frustration. 

Urgh. 

Forcing yourself up and out of bed, you trudge towards the bathroom picking up your backpack on the way. Dean’s eyes weigh heavy on you the entire time and shutting the door behind you is almost a relief, a break in the ever suffocating tension. Releasing a sigh-turned-yawn, you rid yourself of your shorts and tank before turning the shower on and throwing yourself in, limbs still sleep-slow.. You make quick work of it, keeping the water cool, letting it soothe some of the tension in your muscles from the stiff way you held yourself most of the night. 

Half an hour later you're sprawled out across Baby’s back seat, coffee cup nudged between your knees and wolfing down a greasy breakfast burrito Dean tossed your way like it’s a lifeline. 

“Mmrph, I have a condition.” You say around the mouthful of food.

Sam glances at Dean before shrugging. Dean looks at you in the mirror, his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know he’s smirking your smirk before taking the bait, “Oh? And what would that be?”

“Air conditioning is a must.” A pause, your eyes flit between them before landing on Dean's, “My own room would be nice.”

The last bit takes Dean by surprise, or his own thoughts to it does, because Baby judders a little as his foot slides from the pedal making it all that more dramatic, cartoonish really. You bite your cheek to keep from smiling, but it’s fighting its way onto your face anyway and Sam catches your eye over his shoulder and he’s doing the same. 

“Uh- I’m sure we…we can do that, right, Sammy?” Dean stares straight ahead at the road but you can’t help notice how his eyes are shades darker than they were a minute ago. Not that you notice his eye shade or anything. Definitely don't notice they way they change on his mood.

Sam winks at you and the glint in his eye means he’s about to mess, “Ya know Y/N, we’re running pretty low on funds and- shitshitshitstopokay, I was kidding” He full-belly laughs whilst prying Dean's fingers from his knee, the death grip giving him white knuckles and makes you worry his fingerprints are now ingrained in Sam’s bones. Dean mutters something that sounds alot like asshole under his breath.

You’ve bit almost through your cheek now but your fingers are tingling from the warm buzzy hum and the space inside your chest feels like it might burst. You push yourself up, draining the last of your coffee and shoving the cup into the bag you stashed under Dean's seat. You grip Deans seat, fingertips brushing his shoulder ever so slightly, but enough to propel your heart forward 3 miles ahead of the car.

“Thanks guys. Girl needs some space once in awhile, ya know?” 

Your fingers drift further, over the tops of Dean’s shoulder till your hand can curve and grip him a little firmer. You give him a little squeeze before edging them away, but before you can, Dean’s hand lands over yours and squeezes back. The rough pads of his fingers catching in the grooves of your knuckles, the heat all too familiar and yet still foreign, unexplored. You linger a little, addicted to the way his fingers cling to yours, and then Sam’s back to business, citing possible monsters and piercing the veil of anticipation that had covered you and Dean.

 

\----  
“Vampires.” Sam says, nose wrinkling a little. He hated Vampires. 

“Looks like it. There’s an old abandoned car factory about a mile behind the town. Wanna bet that’s where the nest is?” You say, snapping a picture of the location with your phone. 

“Creepy ass factory in the middle of nowhere, yup, sounds about right.” Dean rolls his eyes a little, “Do these things have to be so...predictable?” 

It’s your turn to roll you eyes now as you turn to face Dean, “You want them to hide better? Make our job more interesting?”

“I mean, why can’t they be hiding in a Strip Club or somethin’.” He wets his bottom lip with his tongue, mouth stretching into a shit-eating grin, “You’d have to go undercover, ya know, to be sure. As a dancer. Incase that wasn't clear.”

“Fuck you, Winchester.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees and right into your space that's no longer on the edges of polite. You breath catches a little at his nearness, eying those freckles that have suddenly come into focus, you half wonder if he’ll let you count them.

His eyes dip, doing an exaggerated once over of you, getting stuck on the way you're rolling your tongue over your lip, “God, I hope so.”

“Seriously Dean, can you save the bad attempt at flirting for after?” Sam huffs, forgotten by both of you in that moment. 

“Sorry Sam.” You say in unison, throwing each other half smiles and eyes with promises of later. Always later. 

\---------

The smell of a dead body is one of those things that just sticks with you, and yet you're never fully prepared for it when you find it again. It burns your nose and throat, and somehow stings your eyes. You count three bodies, each one worse off than the last. The floor is tacky with blood, each step making that horrible squity sound as you make your way through each room.

From the shouts, you figure Sam has found his first victim, the sickening slice of metal on bone echo’s through the warehouse followed by a thumb and then a larger one. 

One down. 

You turn down a narrow hallway, opening to two doorways. One has an old dusty nameplate on the door. You smooth your fingers over the dust to reveal the name, although you're not really sure why. Habit maybe? Words made for viewing should be seen right?

Matthew Bowan. Manager

You hear the floor creak a second too late, but brace and turn as a body collides with your side. Pain blooms up your ribcage but it takes a back seat as you shift on your feet and use the momentum to throw the offending Vamp into the door. 

Time slows, your focus narrowing like tunnel vision, each half second expanding in front of you. He hits off the door to the soundtrack of bones breaking and wood splintering. He lands on the floor but is quickly on his feet, fucking vampires, and stalks towards you, shoulder slumped at an awkward angle. He bares his teeth at you, urgh you need floss those fuckers, and you back up a few steps till your back meets the wall. Contrary to popular belief, having a back at your wall actually gave you a measure of comfort knowing nothing can sneak up behind you. You wait, adrenaline flooding your veins making your arms shake a little, he notices and assumes it's something else, something like fear. A weird smirk forms on his mouth, his teeth jutting out at odd angles, and he thinks he has you. He swaggers a little, making himself bigger thinking it’ll tip the scales for him but he's paying less attention to you than him. He lunges, lazily like he’s not even trying to hide his movements and its his downfall. Your hand grips the hilt of the blade tucked into your jacket, the hand he forgot to pay attention to, and you see the whites of his eyes expand as the last second panic sets in. The force of his lunge and angle of your swing takes his head clean off, blood spurting out of him and over you like a blood rain in a downpour.

Great. Awesome. Just fucking perfect

You trudge your way through the factory, hastily wiping the gank blood from your face.

“There you are.” Dean says as you round the corner, his eyes are a little wider than usual, a weird look on his face, “Get lost sweetheart?”

“Stopped for directions, but these Night Folk are rude motherfuckers, so I took his head off.” You smirk at him, taking stock of the blood spatter lightly covering him. 

“Jesus Y/N, you smell disgus- Ompf…” You cut him off with an elbow to the gut, he gives you sorry-eyes but wrinkles his nose, “Sorry, but you do.”

“Yeah well so would you if you were covered in Vampire neck juice…” You huff a little, letting that one roll off you. You did good, you took him out easy and nothing Dean said was gonna take that from you. 

“Okay full sweep done, we got em all. Ready to get outta here?” Sam announces , looking nothing short of pristine, his clothes showing no signs at all that he was turning Vamps insides out. You mentally roll your eyes, of course you look the worst. 

“Hell yeah.”

\------  
You don’t linger, once your showered you and the boys are straight into Baby and headed home faster than you can blink. All of you desperate for the comforts only the Bunker provide, safety, food and thank the lord for air conditioning.

You pass out pretty soon after you get home, the toll of the last few days making your muscles jelly and you brain heavy. You stick to yourself most of the next day, needing a little break from all the tension and testosterone that constantly hovers over you.

Later in the day, maybe a little after 7, you make your way to the kitchen in search of food. A broad set of shoulders peeks out from behind the fridge door, and you know take a second to admire the hard lines and dips of his shoulders, thin grey cotton stretched tight across from them. 

“Anything in there worth eating?” You ask, leaning against the counter.

He turns, a grin, your grin, breaking out over his face, “Just me, babe.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes but your heart dips a little at the petname.

“Hey, wanna watch a movie with me?” 

That...that was unexpected, “Actually, that sounds nice.” 

10 minutes later, you're settled on the couch as Dean sorts the DVD. You have no idea what he’s picked to watch, and you really don’t care, glad to spend some time with him away from everything. 

He plops himself down on the couch next to you, so close your thighs are almost touching. The heat from his body pushes against you and you squirm a little, feeling your heart pick up a little. The movie plays in the background, and you try your best to concentrate on it but you don’t even know what movie it is other than there's guns and car chases and god, why was he so sexy. Every single tendon in your neck is straining, begging for you to turn your head and just look at him, but you don't. You stare pointedly ahead, watching shapes appear on the TV that no longer make sense, listening to the sounds of your breathing, hoping it doesn't sound nearly as loud as you think it does. 

Something tickles at your fingers, glancing down you see Dean’s fingers are playing at the edges of yours. You stare at them, watching them match the feelings before the slip between yours and tighten. You try to swallow and find your throat is more than a little dry, it takes a few attempts but you get there. He's just holding your hand. Calm the fuck down.

“Y/N…” His voice is ragged, torn a little at the edges. His lips wrap around your name. 

You pull your eyes from where your joined and up to his face. He’s staring at you, like he has been for a while, eyes dark and flushed, he’s looking at you like he’s got words that need to pour from him. His lips part, ready and waiting, he angles his body towards you.  
“What are we watching?” Sam says as he thumps into the couch beside you, the force of it forcing your hair forward and over your face. 

Sam fucking Winchester.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of so much sexual tension and unresolved feelings!

Snuggled between your two Winchesters, dressed in your comfy PJ’s and fresh off a hunt it's no wonder you dozed off really. If you could bottle that feeling, the very real feeling of being so utterly safe and content you suspect you’d make millions. The Winchester effect. It isn't until the credits are rolling from the second movie that Dean's voice coaxes you from your heaven. 

“Y/N, hey.” You blink slowly letting your eyes adjust, “Why dontcha get to bed, I’ll clean up here.”

“Mmmm, ‘kay.” Mumbling more to yourself than him, you find your feet somewhere in the blankets and force them towards your bedroom. Once you're there, you realise there’s a very real possibility that tonight will be the night, that tonight's finally tomorrow and Dean will make good on that promise. The thought alone is enough to sober you, chase the fog of sleep that was hanging over you and push you into action. You have maybe 10 minutes before Dean will come to bed, your bed, and so 10 minutes to get ready. Hair is brushed, a dash of the body spritz he likes, a change into silky PJ’s, teeth brushed, emergency shave not needed as you’d taken care of that earlier, ya know, just incase. 

10 minutes pass, then 15, then it’s 20 and you're starting to wonder what’s keeping him. You grab your robe and slip it on before heading out in search of him, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter sipping on a glass of whiskey. He hasn't noticed you yet and you take that minute to enjoy it, to watch his chest move with each breath, pulling the material of his t-shirt tight and emphasizing the sturdiness of him, firm and sturdy. His tongue chases a drop of whiskey over his lip, curling over and leaving a trail of moisture you're just dying to follow.

“Hey, you coming to bed?” Your voice sounds much louder in the silence, Dean’s eyes snapping to you before falling to your skin, roaming the lengths of your legs and up your chest and neck, slow and unflinching. 

“Thought you’d be sleeping.” His voice is gravel, thick and sliding down your spine. 

He downs the rest of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before stalking towards you, large unhurried steps with barely contained power. You get lost in the thickness of his thighs, in the way the ripple and tense with each step, lose minutes over thoughts of how they feel tucked up against you until Dean’s right there. He dips and runs his nose up your jaw, breathing deeply like he's grounding himself, hands landing on your waist while yours grip his t-shirt, anchoring yourself to him because the his nearness is making your knee joints jelly. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He mouths along your jaw, slowly but with purpose, like he’s measuring each cell, “Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

You hands are fists, white knuckled and on the edge of aching, you sway into him, body pressing against his and he leans over, looks you in the eye and lets you see how affected he is, let’s you see his eyes, dark and hungry. The air around you is suffocating, weighed down with the feeling and the need. He tips forward, closes the gap between you and slides his lips along yours. A gentle, tasting touch that turns your bones inside out. The seconds slow, turning over so that you might have time to count the freckles or memorise the lines, so slow that you half consider time has stopped, suspending this moment forever just for you. You hum against him, a soft happy sound that Dean hears and responds with a little more pressure, a lot more hunger. His mouth slants against yours as he deepens the kiss, so thorough and full it realigns your bones, turns knees into elbows and spine liquid hot. He was always going to ruin you, you realise, but god this is so much more, so packed with heat and heart. 

He breaks away, leaving you gasping a little harder than you'd like to admit, looks at you so utterly wrecked, “Bed?”

“Bed.” You agree, tasting the word with confidence, every cell straining for him. 

You reach your room door, or was it his? You had no idea. There’s a grippull and you're against the door, the cold solidness of it pressing into your shoulders. Dean's mouth is on yours, hot and fast, tasting you like he has no intentions of stopping. A hand is in your hair, another gripping your ass with purpose. A moan escapes you into his waiting mouth, he presses forward like he’s trying to capture and keep it. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a deep bass that rattled you bone-deep. 

He breaks away, slides his meaty hand down your neck and hooks in your shoulder, pulls a little and tucks you tight into him. He twists the handle and swings the door open, you barely notice anything but the warmth of him surrounding you and the hard press of him. Thoughts are cut short by his hands on your waist, broad and firm, guiding you further inside before kicking the door shut. You place your hands over his, marvelling at the feel of them on you. The way they stretch out over your hips and across your stomach, taking up so much space on your body. You turn in his arms, his hands automatically landing on your ass and you slide yours up his arms slowly. Feeling over every muscle and dip, you take your time making your ascent. 

Now that you were here and this was happening, you wanted to slow it down, really feel it all.  
This time when your mouths meet you savour it. The feel of his soft lips, warm and insistent against yours, the delicious feel of his stubble scraping along your skin as his mouth works in tandem with yours. It soft and tentative, playing that the edges of need and then all at once it's furious and running. He tilts a little, lips smearing across your jawline, his teeth and tongue working at you. You lean in response, giving him access as he nips and burns his way down your neck and collarbone. He pays attention, hovering over any spots that pull desperate little sighs from you. 

He’s mapping you. Mapping your pleasure. Fuck. 

He slides up you, his massive hands taking up the entire expanse of your back, gathering the material of your t-shirt in his fist. He pulls back a little, enough for your eyes to meet and waits for your nod, waits for the final confirmation from you that this was real and happening. You do, and it burns a new look in his eyes. He tugs up, the shirt sliding free easily, continuing the path downwards, thumbs hooking in your yoga pants as his lips follow the trail. You slides them down slow, letting his knuckles drag down your skin leaving trails of fire. There's a groan that sounds like a ‘fuck’ and his mouth is on yours again; the urgency returning. He hauls you closer still, you feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach and it reaches right to your toes. You're drunk on him, floating with thought of it. 

You huff a quick “Too many clothes,” and grip the front of his t-shirt and pull, not really doing anything but he takes the hint and does that sexy-as-hell one handed pull over from the back of his neck and quickly discards it. 

Broad hands land on the back of your thighs and haul up. You land against him with a soft oompf, slipping your fingers into his hair. Wiggling a little, you adjust the angle so you're pressed against him, his hard length hitting you right there where you need him. Heat blooms everywhere, curling in your stomach and reaching your fingertips. He moves, air whooshes and your back meets the soft cushion of the mattress, his body following you down, your knees squeezing him as his heavy weight settles over you. He fits his mouth against yours, tongue sliding across your bottom lip and shifts his lower body just a little and ah- little sparks of pleasure erupt in you forcing the breath from your lungs. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart. So beautiful.” He says against your skin, the tone wrapping around your heart. 

His hand releases its grip on the back of your thigh, trailing itself up your body, dancing a little under the hem of your underwear before settling on your ribs. He pushes the tips of his fingers under the bones of your bra, teasing just enough to make you twist a little towards him, trying to push his hand over you. He smirks a little against your mouth before sliding them around the back and unhooking, the ease of it a note to his experience. Hastily shoving it out the way, he slides his hand right up the soft flesh under your breast, watching as your skin reacts to the cold. He drags a finger up and circles your nipple which hardens in response, his breath huffs against your cheek. Your head turns and you moan against his neck as his fingers close over the tip, tugging and rolling it. 

Your back arches off the bed as warm lips wrap themselves around your nipple, tongue laving in tight circles. God the sight of it, the way he looks those lips pulling at you, it's dizzying. A deep shuddery breath escapes you as his lips trail across you licking and tasting, the slight graze of teeth pushing you further off the bed before they hover over your other nipple, his breath warm against your skin. He hovers, waits, drawing out the tension, those few heart beats where blood rushes and pauses all at the same time, before pushing forward and encasing you between those wicked lips. He presses himself into you, hard, the rough material of his jeans digging into your soft skin and the combination pulls needy little whimpers from your mouth. Dean’s eyes flash to yours, wild and just an edge of predatory and he releases you with a loud -pop. 

“Shit Y/N-”, he shifts his weight, pushing all of it entirely on his right arm, “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” his voice gruff, near panting- “God, so many times…” He’s grinding down on you now, slow and deliberate, “And never, not once, did I imagine just how good you’d sound-” Your whimpers have graduated to moans, his words stroking a flame that’s licking every nerve-ending and pushing you to an edge of need you’ve never felt, “Sound so good.” He growls out the last word as his lips find yours again, kissing you deep and bruising.

“Me too.” You breath against his lips, nipping at them

“Yeah?” He says, low and with a edge of something that tasted like hope. 

“Yeah.” Your lips brush as you say it, each touch fanning the flames. 

One beat, then two. All at once he surrounds you, his mouth covers yours, his right hand tangles in your hair whilst the other slips down your body, thumb caressing over your hip bone skin raising and tingling in response. His fingers dip into the crease of your thigh, twisting his hand so the backs of his knuckles brush against your folds, jarring you. His tongue dances in your mouth as he brushes his thumb higher, each mimicking the other in lazy, sapid circles. You hum into his mouth, your body shaking, practically vibrating, with the need for more. He presses a finger into you, pushing in til his knuckles brush right against you, making your body jerk. He sets a steady pace, just on the soft edge of frantic and you lose yourself a little, unable to respond in anything other than sharp, pitchy gasps. The feel of him pushing at the heat of you, a delicious dance and build and threatening the edge of that something more. He pulls back a little, twists and adds another finger, crooks them up and forward, caressing your g-spot just enough to make your hips roll into him. Its everything at once, and it's too much and not enough. You shove a little against his shoulder, and he gives immediately, pulling back to look at you, eyes full of concern.

“S’enough. I want you.” You mumble, voice thick and lust drunk.

He presses a quick kiss to your mouth and pushes up off the bed, fingers making deft work of his jeans as they are quickly pushed over his thick, muscled thighs. His muscles coil and pull as he steps out of them, his boxers quickly following suit. Then he’s stalking towards you, his hard cock bouncing with each step. He knees up the bed, and nudges your legs open a little, his arms caging around your head as he presses his weight against you. Slipping a hand between you, he smears his fingers in your wetness and coats himself with, giving a few pumps before lining himself up with you. His eyes amble up your body, all poised and ready with a faint sheen of sweat gathering, and finally land on yours; hard with glittering heat. 

“Okay, sweetheart?” He asks, sucking on that bottom lip again in a way that's far too distracting. 

Huffing out a breath, you drag your feet up and together at the small of his back, and pull. He takes the hint and sinks down, your body taking him in one stroke so ready from the forever build up. The noise that tears from him is pure pleasure and punches you right the gut. The fullness is overwhelming, the delicious burn of stretching making your mind hazy. Your hands slip around and grip his shoulders, fingers pressing hard in the muscle. A second passes, then another, then he's moving, pressing forward into you, rolling up and sending buzzy waves of pleasure up your spine. His pace slow, torturous, his hands tangling in your hair, gripping and tilting so he can access your neck, sucking marks into you as he drives you deeper into the haze that's gripped you. Pleasure takes root within you, spiraling up and spreading through each nerve with every tilt of his hips. 

“Jesus-” he pants, his forehead resting on yours, “Jesus, fuck, you feel so good…”

You hum in agreement, not able to form coherent sentences anymore, pull at him, urging him deeper, faster, more. He responds instantly, snapping his hips forward at a bruising pace, driving you into the mattress. A deep, achy fire builds in you gut, and you push your hips up to meet him. Moans tumble out of you as your get lost of the feel of it, skin on skin, Dean’s skin on your skin. Dean slips his hand between you, angles his body up and drives his pelvic bones flush against you whilst his fingers rub in measured circles. Two more thrusts and the flames erupt, pleasure wrapping round you from all sides till it's almost too much. 

“Dean-” you gasp, as he fucks you hard through your orgasm, pulling miles out of it. Your walls fluttering around him, eliciting a chorus of fuckfuckfuck from him, Dean’s thrusts lose their rhythm, become jutty and erratic over you as he nears his own release. He lets out a low, choking moan as he finds it a few thrusts behind you, burying his face in the space where your neck meets shoulder, his arms shake with the effort to keep from crushing you. 

The ringing in your ears dies down, leaving just the sound of your huffing breaths as you fight to calm your hammering heart. Dean lifts his head, kisses you, soft and sweet, and completely at odds with the way he just fucked you into mattress. 

“Holy shit.” He begins, eyes roaming your face, the tenderness flatlining your heart, “That was…”

“I know.” You say, fogged up on bliss and a balmy freedom that comes from the arms of that one person. Your one person. 

You break reluctantly, separating only to clean up and meet back in the bed. He pulls you against him, hums happily when you slip an arm up his chest and link your fingers with his, savouring the warmth of it, the secureness. He makes you feel so utterly safe, like nothing can reach you so long as he’s got you wrapped up in his arms, the world’s light years away and getting nowhere fast. 

“You're more.” He says into the silence, lips pressing into your hair.

“More?”

“More than family.” He clarifies, answering that question you asked weeks ago, flooring you so completely that he’s had it there ever since, waiting to be answered. Reading between the lines like he wants you too, feeling the weight of the words on your heart. 

“You’re more too, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic ever and I'd totally love some feedback! I've already started part 2 :)


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